


Performance Review

by GwendolynGrace



Series: Love Is Yours [2]
Category: Preacher (Comics), Preacher (TV)
Genre: Bureaucracy, Communication, Existential Angst, Feelings, Gayngels, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: The Standard Operating Procedure manual for Adephi states: Angels' performance shall be reviewed by their direct superiors every 500 years.Only Fiore's last 500 years have been anything but ordinary.In which Fiore's evaluation pushes him even closer to DeBlanc, DeBlanc confirms suspicions about Heaven, and Genesis' fate is clarified.





	1. Chapter 1

"And...has he behaved himself?" Pilo asked above his clipboard.

"What, Genesis? Yeah, mostly. Like I said--"

"Not the entity," Pilo corrected, sounding like a high-class maître d' faced with an underdressed customer. "The demon."

"Oh. DeBlanc. No, he's--been all right." Fiore did his best to regard his superior blankly. 

"All right?" Pilo echoed. "You've been confined together now for 500 years. Fiore, you're not getting...attached, are you?"

"No, of course not," Fiore said hastily. "It's only--well, it's a small apartment, and we have to get on or it would be intolerable." He paused. Had he said too much? It was difficult to think back to how he had been those first fifty or so years, when he barely acknowledged DeBlanc's existence. Should he have made it seem as if they remained so disconnected? But Pilo merely gestured for him to continue. Swallowing, Fiore said, "Actually, I've been influencing him, I think."

"Influencing, how?" said a Seraph to Pilo's right, leaning forward into the light. Had she been there the whole time? Fiore had no idea. He had only seen this angel a handful of times in his millennia of service. He thought her name was Efemia. 

"It's my opinion that exposure to heavenly beliefs and standards has...has instructed the demon to become a better creature," Fiore explained carefully. "I think he goes to greater effort to resist the failures and weaknesses of his species, in order to carry out his responsibilities to the entity. And to the Compact." _And out of consideration for me,_ he thought, but immediately drove the comment from his mind. Choirs and harps, that's what he should be thinking about. Not DeBlanc's little gestures of devotion. Certainly not his mouth on Fiore's-- _No. Alleluia. Gloria in excelsis Deo. Better._

"Fiore is either very naïve or very conceited," Efemia said to Pilo with a derisive snort. "Well, which are you, Adeph?"

"Which--what?" Fiore jumped. Oh, God, what had he missed?

"Are you very naïve," she repeated slowly, "or very conceited? To think you, of all the Host, could single-handedly redeem a demon of the Fourth Circle."

DeBlanc had been a fourth-circle demon? Fiore fought the urge to whistle. He'd never asked, and DeBlanc had never mentioned what sort of demon he had been. Strictly speaking, DeBlanc did not really consider himself a demon anymore, on account of no longer being a resident of Hell. And on account of becoming a professional nursemaid.

"Answer the question, Adeph," Efemia demanded. "Are you dim, as well?"

"No," Fiore said, more defensively than he would have liked. "I don't think I am, at least. And I don't think I'm naïve, either," he added quickly. "He said himself that he was sent here as a punishment, because he wasn't--" he clamped his mouth shut. Mid-millennial performance review or not, he would not gain points at the expense of his companion, nor fall into Seraphim traps.

"Wasn't…?" Efemia prompted.

"Come to think of it," Fiore replied, and drew himself up taller, "it's really not your business, Seraph. Nor is it mine to tell you. If you want to know about DeBlanc, then maybe you should ask him yourself."

Efemia snarled. For a moment, Fiore feared she might draw her flaming sword there and then, and cut him down to size for impertinence. But Pilo held up one hand and she froze. 

"I think what Fiore is attempting to say, in his indelicate way, Efemia, is that any confidences the demon has entrusted to him are not his to share freely. Isn't that right, Fiore?" Pilo's eyes bored into him angrily.

 _Message received._ "Yes, lord, that's exactly right. I've made… I've achieved a positive working rapport with De--with the demon, and I shouldn't like to lose ground if he believes I've violated any trust we've established." He swallowed again, reflecting that 500 years ago, he could not have employed double-speak that subtly. Maybe DeBlanc's skills were valuable, after all.

"Hm," said Pilo. It was impossible to tell whether he believed Fiore or not. Efemia crossed her arms, but shrugged at Pilo and let him go on. "So. All that remains, Fiore, is to ask this simple question: Do you like your assignment?"

"Do I--do I _like_ it?" he parrotted. He'd never expected to be asked.

"It's been 500 years. If you wished for another duty, no one could question it. Cooped up with a demon and the entity, no time away, barely a break in the monotony. Do you wish to continue?"

"Sir, I--" Fiore licked his lips. How would he have answered 500 years ago? "I wish only to serve God. If my post is the best way for me to serve, of course I wish to continue. If I can be of better use elsewhere, then it's not for me to stay." Even as he formed what, he hoped, was the most diplomatic answer, he fought to keep from breaking into a sweat. _Pleaseohpleasedon'ttakeDeBlancaway, theentity'sfine, we'vejustgotthingstoagood place--maybe more to do but pleaseplease--_

"A just answer," Pilo said. But his eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that demon has not been influencing _you_ , Fiore?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Fiore squeaked.

"I mean, a thousand years ago, you would never have answered so perfectly."

Fiore lowered his head. "You sent me to look after Genesis as a lesson in humility, lord," he said solemnly. "Perhaps I have learned."

"Perhaps you have." Pilo stacked his pages of notes and slipped them back onto his clipboard. "You may go. We will communicate the results of your review in due time."

"Does that mean--"

"Back to your duties, Fiore," PIlo said, a touch more gently. "We'll let you know if you're to go elsewhere."

~

DeBlanc was pacing the room with Genesis when Fiore returned. The entity's tendrils coiled around the demon; he was crying and fussing, emitting small sparks that fizzled harmlessly in the air. As soon as Fiore stepped inside, Deblanc began talking."Oh, good, you're back. I can't get the phonograph to turn and walk him at the same time. And can you mix up that formula he likes? Mine always comes out lumpy--" he came to a standstill, really seeing Fiore for the first time. "What's wrong? Did it not...go well?" Genesis squirmed in his arms, pulsing with energy, but DeBlanc stroked its head absently. "Sit down. You look terrible."

Fiore sank into a chair. "It went--I don't know," he said quietly. "They--I think they might reassign me."

"Reassign? I thought you said they shunted you to the sidelines deliberately."

Fiore's eyes flashed in annoyance. It was pretty much the truth, but it stung to hear DeBlanc say it so baldly.

"Well, you did say it," DeBlanc reminded him. He never did apologize, Fiore noted.

"I did. You don't have to rub it in. Here, give him to me." He held out his arms; DeBlanc transferred the odd baby-like form into them, cradling its head as he passed him over. Then his demon counterpart kissed him on the forehead.

"I'll make some tea," he offered, "and you can tell me all about it. If you want to."

"Let's get him settled, but yeah," Fiore said gratefully.

With Genesis safely slumbering in his crib once more, Fiore told DeBlanc about the interview.

"I mean, it was all fairly standard, at first," Fiore explained. "More or less as I'd expected, you know?"

"Yeah. Well, no. Like I told you when you first mentioned it--we don't really have periodic performance reviews. Leave it to Heaven to suck the fun out of everything."

"I still don't understand that," Fiore muttered.

"What, fun? It's a thing you have when you enjoy what you're doing, love. But go on."

"I meant--oh, never mind. Yeah. It was all predictable. What do you think has improved, how have you achieved your goals, tell us about your typical year, etc. Loads of questions about the entity, too, way more than I thought possible."

"Like what?"

"Like, how often it's awake, had it tried to escape, what its temperament is like, what we do to keep it happy, so on. I have to say, if I'd known they would be so interested I'd have brought notes. Oh, that might have been a good suggestion for next time. I should have said I could track…"

"They wanted to know if it's tried to escape?" DeBlanc asked pointedly. A strange look passed over his face. 

"I'm sure they want to make sure we're staying diligent," Fiore explained stiffly. "Because at the end--they asked me about you."

"Sure," DeBlanc said with a shrug. "They want to make sure I'm not corrupting you, breaking down your barriers, causing any sort of distraction that might lead to Genesis escaping."

"How do you get all that?" Fiore marveled. 

"Occupational expertise, my dear," DeBlanc said with a toothy smile. His horns wiggled suggestively. "It's my job to understand psychology."

"Sci what? I've told you not to blaspheme," Fiore grumbled.

"It's not blasphemy. It's the study of human emotion and mental status."

"We're not human."

DeBlanc merely shrugged again. "Close enough for this purpose. So, you're worried something you said might make them separate us?" He put his hand over Fiore's. 

Fiore bit his lips and nodded. His chin quivered. "I didn't mean to--I just--I didn't expect--"

"Shh," DeBlanc soothed. He leaned forward and bestowed another kiss, this time on Fiore's lips. A few moments later, he said: "It's all right, my dear. I'm not surprised."

"But--what if they decide it's you who has influenced me? What if they think I've--fallen?"

"We've influenced each other," DeBlanc replied. "It's impossible not to, close quarters like this. Do you think you've fallen? And--would it be so bad, if you have?"

Fiore sniffled. "It would be awful," he concluded. "You've never seen the Silver City, DeBlanc--to be expelled--to--to be sent somewhere even worse than this room--"

"I like that," DeBlanc said testily.

"Oh, no, I only meant--"

"Only meant that eternity with me is still a pale second to your old existence." DeBlanc finished for him.

"NO!" Fiore yelled. He banged his fist on the table. Genesis woke with a start and wailed. Fiore launched from his seat to tend to the infant. When he came close to the cradle, Genesis cried harder.

"Let me," DeBlanc said, but this time without any rancor. "You know he doesn't like you to be upset."

"I know, I know, I just--" Fiore kicked at the leg of his chair. He hesitated, weighing the best way to express his dilemma. "I don't want to leave you."

DeBlanc gave the tip of his pinky to Genesis to suck. "Is it possible that he's teething?" he commented.

"Did you hear me?" Fiore asked. 

"Yes." He said nothing else. Back to Fiore, he addressed their charge with coos and purrs. At last, Genesis grew quiet once more. DeBlanc tucked him into his cradle. Without looking away from the infant, he said, "You realize that staying together means staying stuck in this cell. Stuck as a permanent surrogate parent to an eternal newborn."

"I--I don't care about that," said Fiore. He crossed to DeBlanc and wrapped his arms around the demon from behind. DeBlanc let him, but did not return the embrace. He went very still. Fiore rested his head on DeBlanc's shoulder. "I...don't care where we are or what we have to do, if we're together."

DeBlanc stiffened in Fiore's grip, but still said nothing. He said nothing for so long that Fiore worried he'd muffed things again, or even worse this time. He knew how he felt, but it was so hard to say it outright to DeBlanc. It meant discounting everything he'd ever been taught about demonkind. But DeBlanc was...DeBlanc. "Believe me, this room's not so bad," he tried, hoping it would gain a reaction. "And the--the entity's not so bad, once we got the hang of him. I think we've got sort of a good thing going, in a way." He waited for DeBlanc's response. Slowly, so slowly, DeBlanc brought his arms up, and crossed them over the top of Fiore's forearms. There was an encouraging sort of squeeze. He continued: "And if they do let me stay on, I can ask for more amenities. To pass the time. Make it even more pleasant."

DeBlanc grunted. "Have you considered that they don't _want_ things to be too pleasant?" he asked finally, very softly.

"Well...I mean, it's supposed to be--austere, innit," Fiore allowed. "Contemplation of the ineffable, adoration of the Divine. Not--not decadent. But that doesn't have to mean uncomfortable." He risked a kiss to the side of DeBlanc's neck. "You know? I mean," he continued, planting his lips behind DeBlanc's ear, " _torture_ is more your lot's pastime. Ours just want order and conformity."

"You're not going a very good job conforming, then," DeBlanc teased. He tilted his head back to arch into Fiore's touch.

"I'm bestowing goodwill," Fiore claimed. He moved his hands lower, earning another groan from DeBlanc. This one was less skeptical, however.

Much more encouraged, Fiore nudged DeBlanc's hip. The other pivoted as directed, pressed against him, and covered his mouth with his own. Then DeBlanc stepped back to lead Fiore to one of the beds.

~

"Perhaps you should tell me as accurately as you can what they asked, and what you said," DeBlanc said much later in the evening.

"Don't get cross?" Fiore requested. At DeBlanc's assent, he related everything asked and answered at the review. The only part he withheld was Efemia's revelation about DeBlanc's rank--he wasn't sure why, but he wanted DeBlanc to feel comfortable telling him personal details like that in his own time.

"Who's this Seraph, then?" DeBlanc asked. "I thought it was just Pilo and your other supervisor--what's his name? Domiel?"

"Dumiel. He was there. He was the one asking most of the questions about the entity. But Efemia...her being there was a surprise, yeah. I didn't even realize she had entered until she said something."

"Why was she there, though?" DeBlanc wondered.

"Dunno." Fiore ran a lazy hand over DeBlanc's chest. "You said earlier that you weren't surprised they want to know how Genesis is developing. Do you think she came to find out if the Seraphim will be able to use it?"

"As a weapon, you mean?" Fiore nodded, and tucked his leg between DeBlanc's knees. "Maybe," DeBlanc considered. "Bit young for it yet, but yeah. It has occurred to me that someday they might want to take him for special training."

"Only he can't _be_ trained," Fiore pointed out. "He can't be reasoned with yet. I dunno as he'll ever be able to reason."

"Oh, it's possible. Many, many eons from now. But the real problem is that training him as a weapon--even making him an Archangel--would of course violate the Compact."

"Right. But if they thought he would be an ultimate force for good, they might risk it."

DeBlanc hugged him tight, stroking his back as he let go. "Now you're catching on to the way it works in the higher circles."

Fiore bit his lips. What did DeBlanc mean by that? Did he think that he knew more about Heaven than Fiore, because Fiore was merely an Adeph, while DeBlanc was a demon of the Fourth Circle? But...no, DeBlanc had no idea Fiore knew that about him. It had to be nothing more nefarious than DeBlanc's inability to resist a jab at Heaven. Unwilling to let DeBlanc's tease stand, he pointed out, "It would be _worth_ the risk if he could right all that's wrong with the universe. You should see what's going on down there. I snuck a peek while I was outside. Down on earth, it's all crusades, holy wars--genocides dressed up as religious devotion."

"Nothing new, then," DeBlanc quipped. "Nothing worth getting involved in."

"It's horrible," Fiore said. "It's only types like Efemia who think it's marvelous."

"Seraphi, you mean? Well, yeah. Footsoldiers for Heaven. They're always the ones."

"Not all Seraphim, altogether. Ones like Efemia. There's more than one faction, you know. Hers is particularly bloodthirsty. She's a patron of zealots."

"Oh." DeBlanc turned onto his side, facing Fiore. He rested one hand on Fiore's hip. "Before--earlier, when you said you didn't care where we were, as long as we were together…."

"I meant it," Fiore assured him. He wanted to say how much, but the words stuck in his throat. DeBlanc would balk, he suspected. Or worse, make fun of him for sentimentality.

"I believe you," DeBlanc said. "But--would you ever consider just...leaving?"

Fiore frowned. "Leaving? Abandoning Genesis, you mean? Deserting my post?"

"Well, probably. Or if they took it away--if they reassigned you...would you want to--to go somewhere else? With me? To quit?"

"Quit. Being an angel."

DeBlanc's lips parted. His eyes grew wide, as if he had not thought through his question, but he nodded confirmation.

Fiore pressed the point, though. "You mean Fall."

"We could go to Earth," DeBlanc suggested. "Disappear somewhere sunny. Maybe Peru; it hasn't been ruined by Europeans yet. Find some beach and just--be together."

Fiore fretted over his answer. "I--I don't think I can do that, DeBlanc." 

He said it as gently as possible, but he could tell DeBlanc was hurt by it all the same. The demon pursed his lips as if he'd expected the rejection. He sat up, disentangling himself, and began to swing his legs out of the bed.

"Wait--I--I can't just--Fall," Fiore explained. He caught at DeBlanc's arm to keep him from walking away. "It's not--I don't know what you did to yourself when you came here," he continued, "and I don't know how permanent it is. Sometimes you sound like it's possible to go back, you could be a proper demon again. But if I Fell--well, I mean, that's that, innit. That's the--the end. Game over. No extra lives."

"You'd be mortal?" DeBlanc blanched.

"No, that was just a metaphor," said Fiore hastily. Mortal! Perish the thought. "Bad choice, I guess. What I mean is, if I Fell, there'd be no turning back. I'd be expelled forever."

"I realize that," DeBlanc said softly. "I just thought--maybe Earth together would be better than Heaven apart."

"I--let me think about that? Please?" He could not begin to articulate how the idea struck him with fear, how it seemed impossible even to contemplate expulsion--voluntarily, at that. He swallowed a surge of panic at the mere suggestion. 

DeBlanc eased back onto the bed. "I'm--I shouldn't have brought it up so suddenly, I suppose," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "I've been thinking about it for a while, but it's obvious you never have. I ought to have known it's a longer way down than up."

"Well, I think...we can cross that bridge when we come to it," Fiore said slowly. "But I hope we don't have to worry about it, not for a while. Like I said, it's quite nasty down there just now."

"It'll still be nasty down there later, too," DeBlanc pointed out dejectedly. "It's always nasty. That's the nature of human beings. They're dead resourceful at nastiness."

"Only because your lot tempt them to it," Fiore retorted. This was more familiar ground, at least. He felt comfortable with their age-old debate.

DeBlanc snorted and shook his head, frowning. "Not our doing, mate. You said it yourself just now: They're slaughtering each other in the name of your deity, not mine."

"You're saying hatred, fear, ignorance and prejudice are our fault?"

"I never did," DeBlanc countered, pulling Fiore back into him. "It's just like love, isn't it? Hate. They're the same thing. Completely human-created, I think. And more powerful than anything we could unleash. In fact, I'd say the only thing even nearly as powerful as hate or love would be--" he broke off.

"Would be what?" Fiore asked, looking up at him.

"Him." DeBlanc jerked his head toward the cradle and the sleeping entity inside.

~

The next day, Pilo came to inspect their quarters. Luckily they were engrossed in caring for Genesis, so nothing seemed at all out of the ordinary when he arrived. Pilo watched them feed and cosset the baby and put him in a happy mood.

"Would you like to hold him?" Fiore asked.

"Er--no. That's not necessary," Pilo said.

"It's actually rather pleasant," Fiore told him reassuringly. "He gives off a sort of vibration; it's all tingly. Sort of like a massage."

Pilo held Fiore's gaze so long that his smile grew fixed, then faltered. He dropped his eyes deferentially.

"Would you say that you are its primary caretaker?" Pilo asked. "Or does your counterpart share equally in these chores?"

"We each have our strengths," said Fiore with a warning glance over Pilo's head toward DeBlanc, who had begun to speak up. _Please let me do all the talking,_ he pleaded with him silently. Particularly since he had already answered questions like this during the review. "DeBlanc--this is DeBlanc, by the way, I don't know as you've been properly introduced. DeBlanc, Pilo--"

Neither of them moved.

Fiore cleared his throat. "Er...DeBlanc's better at things like songs and stories to get him to sleep. But he seems to prefer when I feed him. Things like that. We take it in turns, otherwise."

"And you have been given--reading material, I see," Pilo observed, though again, Fiore knew perfectly well that Pilo must have granted his requests for everything they had. "Cards?"

"Yes. Just a friendly came of gin rummy now and then. Or solitaire," Fiore hastened to add.

"Gambling is a doorway to profligacy, weakness, and rash behavior," Pilo cautioned. He picked up a book and examined its spine, then dropped it again.

"We don't--"

"Does the creature show any sign of understanding?" Pilo interrupted. "The songs or stories it is told."

"Well...it has preferences," Fiore hedged. "I mentioned in the interview, lord. But--no, no real development like that, yet."

"Good." Pilo rose. "Fiore, step outside, please." With a gesture of his finger, the door opened. Pilo crossed to it, waiting for the Adeph to follow. Careful not to look at DeBlanc on his way, Fiore complied.

Pilo shut the door behind them. "It is the decision of the Host that Genesis cannot be allowed to develop consciousness. You must keep it subdued."

"Subdued? You mean, asleep?"

"Unconscious. Correct. We placed our faith in you, Fiore. I selected you personally. But you have grown fond of those two unnatural beings in there, have you not?"

"I--I'm not required to be fond of them, lord," Fiore said flatly.

"No. You are not. It is better, in fact, if you aren't." Pilo peered at the door as if he could see through it. With a jolt of fear, Fiore wondered if possibly he _could_ see through it. Pilo pinched his nose. "Despite my assurances that you had no interest in rearing a child, or conversing with devil scum, you have changed, Fiore, and not for the better. I must tell you, we are not certain we ought to allow you to continue. Clearly, the usual 500 years was too long to leave you alone unchecked."

"Sir?" Fiore squawked. His heart pounded. They were going to reassign him--everything DeBlanc warned him about was going to happen. How quickly could they get away? He wondered.

But Pilo wasn't finished. "It has been decided, however, to give you one more chance. As I say, it is imperative that Genesis be kept unaware of itself or its surroundings. If it acquires the ability to think, to move, to exert control over its environment, it could be disastrous for the Silver City. It might mean the end of the kingdom of Heaven, Fiore. So. You will be under review again in 100 years. We will inspect this ce--this apartment, annually, to confirm that Genesis is sleeping." He sniffed, as if something smelled foul. "It's obvious now that no one below cares about that demon, either. Listen to me, for your own good. I know _he_ was the one who engaged _you_ , isn't that true. He's the one who told you to take an interest in the entity, to--to treat it as any other infant, rather than an abomination. Is that not so?"

Fiore blushed. "Yes, lord. That's so. I have been tempted by his--his--"

"Don't bother," Pilo cut him off. "It's not too surprising, considering his background. It was probably inevitable that he would trick you into dereliction. Fiore. If, in your judgment, it would be safer to carry out your responsibilities without distraction, then you are authorized to take extreme measures. Do you understand?"

"No," Fiore blurted. "You mean, I should--"

"Yes. We cannot let you go back inside there armed. But if you need a weapon, request it and it will be given to you. No one in Hell will know or care that he is gone--and I daresay we will all breathe more easily in the Silver City knowing that Genesis is in the sole care of angels. Only we can be trusted to manage it properly." Pilo clapped Fiore's shoulder. "Kill the demon, Fiore. It's better that way."

He unfurled his wings. Fiore found his voice. "Is this a test, lord?" he asked, still aghast.

"Fiore," Pilo scoffed. He stepped off the ledge, hovering in the air. "Everything is a test. Had you forgotten?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Damn," DeBlanc said, ignoring Fiore's wince. "I knew you angels were a cold lot, but…."

"It breaks the Compact," Fiore repeated. He had said as much four times already, as if it were the most important objection. "What am I to do?"

"Well, for starters, don't kill me," DeBlanc suggested.

"Don't be daft, of course I'm not going to kill you," Fiore waved away the possibility. He offered a colorful suggestion about what Pilo could do with that particular advice.

DeBlanc felt a tightening inside, somewhere in the region of his chest. _What the hell?_ he thought. _Am I dying anyway?_ He tried to get Fiore's attention, and the pang increased. _Oh. Is this how humans feel all the time?_ he wondered. _How do they do it? No wonder they hurt each other so deeply._ The sensation made him breathless, and even a little dizzy. Fiore was still pacing anxiously, sitting, standing, measuring the small apartment with his lanky strides, sinking to the bed, starting up again. He was spiraling into full-blown panic, but despite that, he rejected the one option which would have solved his problem. DeBlanc went to him. He took Fiore's hands in his and brought him to sit on the edge of one of the beds.

"Shh…" he said, projecting more calm than he felt. "We're going to have to have some defensive measures, that's all. It's going to be all right."

"All right? Have you even been listening to a thing I said?"

DeBlanc kissed him ardently. Instantly, Fiore leaned in to his kiss. He grasped DeBlanc's biceps as if to haul him upward and closer. DeBlanc bent into the violent embrace, which fed Fiore's passion even more. But eventually, the angel's furor subsided into a more controlled sort of kissing. Once the other had calmed, DeBlanc said, "I heard you, my dear. Now, listen. We're not breaking the Compact. Pilo may be right that no one below will ever check on me, but he's incorrect about the rest. If I'm killed while I'm up here--they'll know. They'll conclude that Heaven has decided to violate the agreement. It would be...bad."

"Bad?"

"Bad," DeBlanc nodded with emphasis. "But there are things we can do to appear compliant. For one thing, he's probably right--we would have a much easier time if we kept Genesis sleeping permanently."

Fiore's mouth twisted in distaste. "That's why they didn't want its parents looking after it, innit," he observed.

"Well, and eternal punishment," DeBlanc agreed. "But in purely practical terms, it _is_ the safest course."

"Suppose."

"So, from now on, we make sure it sleeps," DeBlanc said. "You said they'll inspect annually."

"Yeah."

"All right. We can prepare for that. We'll keep track and when the inspection rolls round, we'll tidy up--change our routines--"

"We won't know when--"

"We'll just have to go without until it's over. Did they say how many times?"

"My next review's in a century. So, a hundred."

"Blimey, no paroles? No lightening the sentence for good behavior? No offense, but I'm well glad I'm not one of your lot."

Fiore splayed his fingers over his hips. "I told you before, it's not like that. Why do you have to make it seem like a prison?"

"It _is_ a prison, Fiore. We're jailers. But we're also inmates." He let out a slow breath through his nose. "If I didn't know how it affects the entity, I'd suggest we pick up that argument when you're due for inspection. Should make things appropriately frosty in here."

"I'm sorry," Fiore muttered.

"Don't apologize. You're not responsible for the nature of the Host."

"No, I mean--I'm sorry. I'm sorry I botched my review and now they want you dead. I'm sorry you hate it here so much. I'm sorry--"

"No, no, no, my dear," DeBlanc said quickly, cupping Fiore's chin. "None of that. They've always wanted me dead. It's just that they were waiting to tell you."

He could see in Fiore's eyes the moment that he recognized the truth of DeBlanc's conclusion. For while DeBlanc had no proof, he had been warned before arriving that the assignment might not be as simple as it seemed. He had been waiting, too, for the angels' true agenda to become clear. Fiore's instructions were not quite an order, but the implications neatly reinforced what DeBlanc already knew. Between Heaven and Hell, Heaven surely cornered the market on sanctimonious asshattery. And they believed in nothing so much as in their own divine righteousness--they would stop at nothing to get their way.

"Have you considered the alternative we discussed before?" DeBlanc asked gently.

Fiore nodded slowly. "Running, you mean?" He bit his lip, reaching out for DeBlanc's hand. "I haven't, really. They'd find us."

"Possibly," said DeBlanc, who had a few ideas about how to hide.

"I think we ought to try, at least, to seem as if we've corrected things here," Fiore suggested instead. "We can always reserve that plan for later. Maybe after a few more centuries, if we can wait that long."

"You're holding out for a better bolthole?" DeBlanc guessed.

"At least a bolthole where they're not burning one another at the stake, maybe. I still want to try a Playstation."

"Ah, so, another 500 years, then," DeBlanc concluded.

Fiore grinned. "Yeah, that's about right."

"Come here," DeBlanc invited, hugging him close. The pang in his inside was back--a tightness of pain and at the same time, a warm feeling of happiness. It was difficult to reconcile the conflicted sensations. It was more difficult still to process the notion that a demon even _could_ feel this particular emotion. He was afraid to name it, even in his thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" Fiore said into his hair. "And promise you shan't get cross?"

"You can ask me anything, love," DeBlanc said, tripping over the familiar address suddenly. It had tumbled out dozens of times before, but now it _meant_ something--and did Fiore notice anything different?

Fiore straightened to put an arm's distance between them. "Why...did you never tell me you're from the Fourth Circle?"

DeBlanc breathed in sharply. "I--where did you hear that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Efemia. She said I had a high opinion of myself if I thought I could--reform a demon of the Fourth Circle by myself."

DeBlanc set his jaw. He had promised not to get cross (well, technically, he hadn't, but he knew Fiore would be upset by that minor hair-splitting), but he had underestimated the Seraphi talent for twisting souls as effectively as anyone of his previous acquaintance. "That bitch," he bit out, to make it clear he was annoyed at her, not with Fiore. Forcing himself to unclench his teeth, he cycled through a ragged breath before asking, "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

Fiore jiggled his head slightly. "I dunno--I...I thought--it felt like she was talking out of school, or something."

"She fucking was," DeBlanc growled. "But--it doesn't matter." His shoulders shook in an involuntary shudder. "I told you before that I had to reliquish all that. So I'm not a Fourth-Circler anymore, anyway."

"But you don't deny that you were?"

DeBlanc rolled his eyes. "It's complicated. More complicated than things are up here. You lot value your castes. Down there things are...more fluid."

"What does that mean?" Fiore asked.

"It means...we can be in the Fourth Circle one day and the Ninth the next. We can get close to the center of Hell and find ourselves on the outskirts an hour later. It's not consistent. Circles--they just represent a momentary status."

"I don't understand. It's not an expression of power?"

"Are you innately less powerful than a Seraph?" DeBlanc inquired.

"Yes," said Fiore without hesitation. "Yeah, all Adephi are. Are you saying that no demon is more powerful than any other?"

"No," DeBlanc allowed. "Only that our proximity to the inner or outer realms isn't necessarily linked to our strength. There are...other ways of establishing our pecking order. To attain the Fourth Circle is one thing. But to stay there--that's another."

"Oh." Fiore rubbed his chin in thought. He crossed to the sleeping godform as if to check on it, although it was fast asleep. DeBlanc waited while Fiore absorbed all he had just revealed.

"I've been thinking," Fiore said slowly as he turned back from the cradle, "that we might have to make it seem as if I've...converted you."

~

"The twenty-third one is about peacemakers?" DeBlanc verified. He had such a hard time keeping them all straight. Just like those sonnets--why did humans insist on simply numbering things?

"No, it's the one for funerals," Fiore corrected. "You know: _The Lord is my shepherd--_ "

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Green pastures, Death Valley, all that." 

"Valley of death. Right."

"Okay. Give me another one."

Fiore flipped through a stack of flash cards he had made. "What were the injuries Jesus received while upon the cross?"

"That's easy," DeBlanc responded. "Hands, feet, spear."

"How many spears?"

"Oh. Erm...three?"

Fiore grimaced. "Just the one. Five holy wounds, remember?"

"What about the crown of thorns, then?" DeBlanc accused. "Do you really think they're holy, by the way? I mean...you all _know_ he was-- What?" he broke off at Fiore's gaping expression.

"We thought they were ready," he said quietly. "But that's not why he's revered, even up here."

"Okay, why then?"

"Because...he was inspired and he devoted his life to the service of the Divine. Just like Mohammed. The wounds are holy because they've been sanctified in recognition of that man's sacrifice. Whether he was or wasn't a literal embodiment of the divine is immaterial."

"Huh."

"What?" Fiore asked, jaw jutting out indignantly.

"Nothing. No one's ever explained it to me like that before. That's all."

Fiore rolled his eyes. "You lot have sections of Hell for other gods of the Underworld. Hades, Anubis, so on. I've read the literature."

"You mean the propaganda?" DeBlanc grinned. "Well, it happens you're right. We coexist, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah. And we coexist, too." He flipped through the flash cards. "Jesus was all Gabriel's idea, anyway," he grumbled.

"O...kay," DeBlanc said, backing off the clearly touchy subject. "Whatever. Five wounds. Got it. Ask me another."

They had been studying for a month. DeBlanc thought he was really getting the hang of this piety business. Fiore's idea was simple, but brilliant: make the higher-ups believe DeBlanc was reforming. Suggest that Heavenly influence was improving him, and that there was no particular need to eliminate him from the equation. Keeping Genesis asleep had also been a major change, but, DeBlanc decided, a reasonable one. He hadn't mentioned it to Fiore, but he, too, had wondered what would happen when the entity became sufficiently aware as to understand that it was a prisoner. It was sort of a shame, really, because holding the little fellow while he _was_ awake was...pleasant. He still got to croon to it occasionally, when it threatened to wake, or when it had to feed and required settling down again. There was no doubt it had a personality, and DeBlanc missed its quirks and preferences coloring their days. But it was an easy fix to their situation. For now, the real hurdle was convincing Fiore's auditors that DeBlanc's redemption was coming along.

It had been nearly a year since Fiore's review, and they expected someone to inspect them any day now. They had arranged the cell in ways to subtly suggest a cool, but cooperative existence. Instead of a box of books spilling onto the floor, there were two neat little shelves by each bed. Instead of a pile of games, there was a small chest along one wall which, when opened, also included Fiore's collection of angel figurines. (He did not, in fact, collect angel figurines. DeBlanc had spent hours getting them to look just right. He made sure the card deck was the easiest to change back and forth.) The worst part was sleeping in separate beds again. For over a hundred years, neither of them had ever taken more than a nap alone.

"What if we just quickly move apart if someone should come in the middle of the night?" DeBlanc asked once.

"They'll know," Fiore insisted sourly. Too much to hope they would knock. That wasn't Heaven's style.

"And our things won't be on the right nightstands, and all," DeBlanc conceded, disappointed. It was hard to sleep knowing Fiore was just across the aisle, listening to his quiet snores, having to imagine the weight of Fiore's arms and legs around him.

It had been nearly a year since DeBlanc realized that how he felt about Fiore had a name, and he still did not dare to speak it aloud. That particular feeling was too big, too frightening, too _human_ , to let it take literal shape. Such a big feeling, for such a small word. Saying it would change everything. So he didn't.

"Don't lay it on too thick," Fiore cautioned the next time they fussed over the trappings of the room. He was clearly getting nervous the longer it took for the inspection to come.

"I won't," DeBlanc promised. "I don't think I could if I wanted to," he added.

"It's just--they have a way of--"

"I have a way, too," DeBlanc said. "It's going to be all right, Fiore. How about some tea?"

"Tea. Yeah. That would be--oh, sod it. How about some wine?"

Two days later, Zelba came to see them. DeBlanc remembered her from her previous deliveries to fulfill Fiore's requests for books and sundry items, but he had only seen her fleetingly as Fiore stepped outside to chat when she came by. This was their inspector? Well, that was good--she had a soft spot for Fiore, that much was obvious--and bad, since she knew for a fact that items she had brought them were no longer in evidence.

He hadn't expected her to be so attractive, but it wasn't too surprising. She was quite petite, especially compared to the tall, gangling angel who now held the door for her. Her skin was the color of rich chocolate and her hair cascaded in tight rows decorated with feathers. She bounced when she walked, as if she was lighter than the atmosphere. Her wings were also a chocolatey brown, tucked against her back, so that the feathers in her hair appeared to merge with her pin feathers. She was plump and curvy and, if DeBlanc had been any other sort of demon, he would have been tempted himself to see if he could entice her.

That did not mean he cared to watch her flirt with Fiore. DeBlanc couldn't say he was jealous, because Fiore--dear, impossible, single-minded Fiore--remained utterly oblivious to Zelba's overtures. There was no question in DeBlanc's mind that Fiore was both clueless and completely uninterested in her attention. He focused solely on the task of passing Zelba's inspection. But regardless of Fiore's indifference, DeBlanc had to swallow the urge to interpose himself between them. 

"Did you send the games back?" Zelba asked, glancing around.

"We decided we didn't need them," Fiore answered. "DeBlanc has been reading the books, though, and it's led to some...interesting developments."

"Oh?" Zelba gave DeBlanc a brief once-over with large, deep brown eyes. However, there was no warmth in them for him. "Such as?"

"I've become very interested in the...Inquisition," DeBlanc said with a grin. He held back a chuckle at Fiore's shocked expression, berating him noiselessly over Zelba's head. As the angel shut the apartment door, he bugged his eyes out at DeBlanc. The message was clear: "What are you playing at?" it said.

"Why the Inquisition?" Zelba asked, closing the distance between them. From nowhere, a clipboard and quill appeared.

"I find it fascinating that the Host endorses the torture of innocents to achieve fanatical adherence to Scriptures," DeBlanc said. The quill moved rapidly on its own, taking dictation.

"Not Scripture," she corrected mildly, "but merely men's current interpretation of it. And up here, we like to think that any twisting of the Word comes from sources considerably lower than ours."

"You think Hell is responsible?" DeBlanc laughed. "That's perfect. Completely wrong, but charming."

"I was referring to your interest in the Word itself," Fiore interrupted peevishly.

"Oh. Yes. Naturally, that too," DeBlanc agreed with an artless shrug. "It amuses me to learn more about the humans' interpretations, as you called them," he explained to Zelba. "Fiore is quite the font of information. He's helped me understand much better."

Zelba blinked. "Understand what?"

"Why, the ineffable," DeBlanc replied. He used not a trace of guile. Behind Zelba, Fiore shook his head furiously.

"Too thick!" he mouthed in exaggeration, but then he had to clap his mouth shut quickly when Zelba turned to face him. "That's really so thoughtful of you, Fiore," she said with approval. "I'm sure only an Adeph as sweet as you would consider the possibility of calm, reasoned discourse with a demon. You must be remarkably patient. And kind." She took a hopeful step forward into Fiore's space.

"Er...not really," he said, discomfort finally dawning on him. "I've implemented Pilo's instruction, as you can see. We keep Genesis asleep now almost 23 hours per day. It only wakes up for feeding about every 12 hours."

"Good," Zelba said. The quill made a note. "And it hasn't shown any signs of fighting back on that regimen?"

"Oh, no, in fact, it's actually a little disorientated. By the time we've fed it, it's sleepy again, and it usually only takes a lullaby or two to put it right out."

"Good." She smiled at Fiore. "You know, it's rare for an Adeph to be given this sort of responsibility."

"Er...I know Pilo's been quite the advocate."

"He wants the Adephi to be more respected by the Seraphim. In fact, I heard that the Seraphim debated about whether they should be conducting these inspections themselves, not us internally."

"R--really?" Fiore asked.

"Mm-hmm. As I understand it, the only reason I'm here and not, say, Efemia, is that there's a prevailing attitude among the Seraphim that these sort of administrative tasks are beneath them."

"Oh. Well...." Fiore sent another pleading look toward DeBlanc, but the demon could not indulge his own impulse. He wanted, desperately, to signal Fiore to knock her back, but instead for both their sakes, he nodded and gestured for Fiore to embolden her. "Is that...so?" Fiore asked, taking a tentative step toward her. "But you're so...er, organized."

DeBlanc buried his forehead against the palm of one hand. Zelba, too, did not take Fiore's odd comment as a compliment.

"Organized?" she echoed in confusion.

"Well, I mean…um--efficient. I mean, nothing's beneath you." As soon as he said it, Fiore realized his mistake and began speaking quickly. "No! I mean--I just mean that I imagine you're capable of anything. Not--"

Zelba whirled away to inspect the sleeping area. She took notes on the titles at each beside bookshelf. "Which is whose?" she asked, pointing to the beds.

"I use this one," DeBlanc volunteered. He did, and he had been sleeping in it for the last little while, but of course under normal circumstances, they both used both beds (whichever was more convenient). Also, Fiore had a much easier time with deception when he could tell a half-truth.

"So...this one's yours, then?" Zelba asked Fiore. Then she tested the mattress with her hand, and plumped the pillow suggestively.

Fiore looked from Zelba to DeBlanc and back. "Er, yes?" he said in bewilderment. DeBlanc did not merely roll his eyes; he rolled his entire head.

"Oh, for--If you two kids want to be alone," he suggested, trying to keep it light and mildly teasing. Fiore managed a weak smile, but Zelba nodded smartly without glancing back at DeBlanc.

"Yes, that would probably be best." She gestured to the door and it opened. "If you wouldn't mind? About an hour." She selected a book from one of the shelves and tossed it at him. "Don't go far, though."

DeBlanc caught the book reflexively. Swallowing a wave of revulsion, he stepped into the eternal sunlight of the Silver City. The door closed behind him.

He looked down at the book she had thrown him. Aquinas' essays. _Fuck that_ , he thought--and felt another surge of nausea. Someone was about to get fucked, but he wasn't sure who or how. Would Fiore do what was obviously needed to keep them afloat? Could they live with each other afterword, if he did?

He was torn between staying put, knowing that he would be forced to listen to the procedings inside, or to take rare advantage of the opportunity to have a look around. The latter felt like abandoning Fiore--but it might be better for them both if he did not stay nearby. It would defy Zelba's instruction, too, which seemed perverse reason enough to explore. Besides, it was the first time in over 500 years that he'd been outside. And he'd barely been allowed to see anything when he'd first arrived in the Silver City. He had to admit he was curious.

The exterior of the apartment was a white stucco-like wall, no windows, only the door to mark it. It curved gracefully around, connected to other buildings by a narrow balcony--more of a catwalk, really--all out of silvery, wispy white cloud. Across from their quarters, he could see similar walkways connecting other clouds, and other round pods. Without wings, he actually _couldn't_ travel far or quickly.

 _Go or stay?_ he asked himself again. He acutely wanted Fiore to give her what she wanted to pass the review, so they could be left alone for another year. But he equally wanted Fiore to push her away, declare himself taken by someone else, despite how disastrous that would be for them. There was a "thump" inside the cell. It jolted DeBlanc so that he dropped the book. It skidded on the catwalk, sliding to a stop just on the edge of the bottomless drop. "Perfect," DeBlanc muttered. Carefully, he sank to his knees. He inched toward the precipice to retrieve it.

Suddenly, he remembered the snatch of conversation he overheard between Pilo and Fiore. "Everything is a test here," he said aloud to himself. "It's a test." Excitedly, he launched back to his feet. "It's a test!" he whooped. The motion brought him into precarious balance; he flailed his arms for a moment to regain equilibrium. Then without any hesitation, he opened the cell door.

"Fiore, it's a test! Don't--"

Zelba and Fiore were seated at the table. A completely chaste distance stretched between them. 

"Of course it was," Zelba said, once more her bubbly self. "And you both passed so well. Fiore, congratulations. Really, you've done remarkable things here. Pilo's going to be so impressed, I bet he'll offer you a holiday." She gathered her things. As she got to her feet, she leaned forward and whispered in Fiore's ear. 

He blushed deep red, but said only, "I'll see you out." With one last pat on his shoulder, Zelba stepped through the door.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, I expect," she said cheerily. "Do keep up the good work, Fiore." Then she left without bidding DeBlanc goodbye. The door closed as she flew away.

"I don't believe it," DeBlanc said to the closed door. "My people have so much to learn. That was positively the most...vicious trick I've ever been party to. How did you--what happened?"

Fiore shrugged. "Like you said, it was a test. I told her that I wasn't about to sink to bribery to get a good result, even if I fancied her."

"Good thinking. So you didn't--"

"Course not."

"And...you don't fancy her, do you?" DeBlanc asked softly. "I mean, it would be all right, if you--"

Fiore took him into his arms. "I don't fancy her. I mean--I thought--for a minute, I thought I'd have to go through with it. Or that you wanted me to."

"I--I would have understood, if you'd done as needed," DeBlanc said sadly, but meant it. "But I'm so glad you saw through it." He leaned against Fiore's shoulder. "What did she say to you, at the end there?" he murmured into Fiore's chest.

"She--said she hoped that if I got time off, I'd spend it with her. Without any constraints on the outcome."

"And that made you blush?"

"That's not _how_ she said it."

"Cheeky little minx," DeBlanc observed. "Think we can rearrange, or should we wait?"

"Wait. Just a few more days until we're sure. But we can have some wine to celebrate." He moved away to get a bottle. "I knew something was wrong, honestly," he continued as he uncorked, "because she's never been the type to come on that strong, or throw her weight around. As soon as she chucked you out, I thought, is this really happening? And then--"

"Fiore," DeBlanc cut him off abruptly. The tall angel straightened with corkscrew and bottle in hand. 

"Yes? You'd rather a red?"

"No. I...I--there's something I've been--wanting to say, and it's...odd. It's a funny sort of confession, really--"

"I love you, too," Fiore said, grinning.

Despite himself, DeBlanc drew up short. "Half a moment, how do you know that's what I was going to say?"

"Were you going to say something else?" Fiore shot back. His lips twitched and twisted, and his tone had just a hint of smugness. It was adorable.

"Well...no. But--you've never said it, either."

"I was waiting for you." Fiore returned to the wine. As he handed over DeBlanc's glass, he said, "I've known since the day I thought we might be separated. I said I didn't care where we were or what we had to do, so long as we were together. Remember?"

"I remember that you've done everything possible to keep us here," DeBlanc pointed out. He wasn't angry, but it was true that he might have cut bait a year ago, if Fiore had been more at ease with the idea.

"Well...just because I'm willing to sacrifice comfort or security doesn't mean I think it's the best option," Fiore explained. "So long as we can make things work here, why invite trouble?"

"Fair point," DeBlanc agreed. Though it was more "comfortable" for Fiore than for him, it was admittedly light years ahead of life in Hell. "Fiore?" he asked after a few sips of wine.

"Mm?"

"Are you still afraid of--Falling?"

Fiore drank his wine and thought. "Yes," he confessed a few hours later. "Yes, I'm afraid of it. But a few more years of this bullshit and I might not be."

DeBlanc smirked into his glass. He was definitely a positive influence on Fiore. What's more, Fiore loved him back. They were still jailers, still in a prison, and still under pressure to keep their relationship secret--and would be, it seemed, for a very long time. But they had each other. And for now, that was enough.


End file.
